


let me build you something better (i could worship you forever)

by beautifulglider



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Pining, Post-Black Panther (2018), Pre-War, one-sided Bucky/others mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-23
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 03:09:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15015350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulglider/pseuds/beautifulglider
Summary: In an apartment in Brooklyn, Bucky just wants to be with Steve.In the future, some dreams come true.





	let me build you something better (i could worship you forever)

**Author's Note:**

> This is purely self-indulgent. I just wanted to enjoy some resolved pining, and to pretend that Infinity War never happened. The title comes from Tempt You (Evocatio) by Nothing but Thieves, which gives me major Bucky-thinking-about-Steve vibes. My thanks to M and A for looking this over for me. Any remaining errors are my own.

**1938**

When Bucky gets home, Steve is sitting on the back steps. There’s a notepad lying open on his lap, the stub of a pencil in his right hand skating across the paper. Bucky saunters right up to him, tries to get a peek at what he’s drawing. He only glimpses the outline of a figure before Steve bats him away.

“Oh sure, that’s a nice welcome,” Bucky grouses.

Flipping to a blank page, Steve rolls his eyes. “How many times have I told you to ask first?”

“What, don’t I get Best Friend Privileges or somethin’? Besides, you don’t tell me that every time. How’m I supposed to know when it matters?”

Steve glares at him until Bucky wants to squirm.                 

“Okay, okay,” he huffs at last. “I’m sorry. I’ll ask next time, all right?”

“Thank you.” Steve lowers his gaze to the notepad, but his lips are pressed together like he’s trying not to smile. Bucky waits for a silent count of five.

“So can I see it?”

“No.”

“Aw, come on! Just ‘cause I didn’t ask the first time?”

“No,” Steve repeats firmly, “because sometimes my art is just for me.”

Closing his eyes, Bucky takes a slow, deliberate breath. He gets it, he really does. Steve is more than allowed to have stuff in his life that’s private. It doesn’t mean he’s mad at Bucky, or deliberately trying to piss him off. He doesn’t know how goddamn awful Bucky’s day was. It might be safest just to change the subject.

“How was the store?”

“Fine,” Steve says. “Pretty quiet, actually. Although Lila Cohen came in to buy some milk and she asked after you.”

“Oh yeah? And what’d you tell her?”

“I didn’t say you’re going out with Mabel now, if that’s what you mean.”

That _is_ what Bucky means, but he’s not about to admit it. He shrugs carelessly. “It wouldn’t matter if you did. We ended things just fine, Lila and me. It’s nobody’s fault she wanted to get serious and I didn’t.”

“Of course not,” Steve agrees, his eyes dancing with ill-concealed humor. Given that Bucky has developed a habit of ending things before they get serious, maybe he’s justified. But he’s also gracious enough to let it drop. “How was _your_ day?”

“Fine,” Bucky lies. “Great.”

His flippancy does nothing to convince Steve, who frowns at him. “Really?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nah, but it’s over now, so.”

He pulls out his pocket watch, studies the motion of its hands to avoid meeting Steve’s eyes. Truth be told, he loves Steve’s eyes. He loves that years of experience have taught him to parse so many of their complex expressions. But what he doesn’t love is that it goes both ways—that sometimes Steve can read him just as easily as he can decipher Steve.

“Speaking of Mabel, though,” he says aloud, “I’m takin’ her out tonight. Better get cleaned up.”

He steps around Steve, nudging him with the toe of his boot as he passes. Steve whacks him lightly with his notepad in return.

When Bucky opens the door to their apartment, the hinges squeak to herald his arrival. He almost doesn’t hear them, though, over the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Konrad arguing next door. He looks around the familiar room and resentment bubbles up inside his chest, spilling over into his throat. Some days he comes home glad as hell just to have a place of his own—of _their_ own, his and Steve’s. Other days he takes in the dingy windows, the ratty old couch, the dripping sink that they resolutely pretend isn’t growing mold in more than one spot, and he wants to run as fast and as far as he can.

Steve deserves better than this. It drives Bucky absolutely nuts that he can’t give that to him. But seeing as that’s not a new feeling, he swallows it down and sets about getting ready for his date. The routine is simple enough. Regrettably, it leaves his mind free to dwell on other things he’d rather not think about.

Such as how Tommy Donovan got his hand crushed at the docks this morning. Bucky doesn’t know what will happen to him, but with one less man on the clock today, he and the other guys had to pick up the slack. He’s fucking exhausted. Irritable, too. He wishes he hadn’t made plans with Mabel, but he doesn’t want to cancel either. She’d be disappointed for sure, maybe even angry, and it’s too early in the game to risk upsetting her.

So he pretends he’s getting ready for Steve instead.

He picks out a nice set of clothes and imagines wearing them for Steve, whose clever eyes would rake appreciatively over his body at first sight. He combs his hair, smoothing it back, and imagines Steve’s sure hands mussing it up again as soon as they’re alone. He shaves and imagines Steve’s delicate fingers brushing along his cheek, the line of his jaw. Steve’s warm mouth against his skin.

See, whoever else Bucky steps out with, he’s only ever been serious about Steve. If Steve were his fella, Bucky would go all out. He’d bring Steve the biggest, prettiest bouquet of flowers he could find. A brand new sketchbook, too—one of those fancy ones with the leather covers that Steve eyes longingly whenever they walk past the shop window. It’d be worth it for the look on Steve’s face. While he gushed with gratitude, Bucky would swoop in and kiss him on the cheek, and Steve would laughingly push him away with promises of “later.” Then Bucky would take him out for the best dinner money could buy. Afterward they’d go see a picture—maybe the one that’s all drawn by hand that Steve’s been so wild about. And maybe, if Steve was amenable to the idea, they might even go dancing. Bucky could finally teach him how. They’d be no different from every other happy couple hopping and swinging their way round the dancefloor.

It’s a good fantasy, sure, but even in the privacy of Bucky’s mind it doesn’t feel quite right. He just can’t envision taking Steve out on the town the way he wants to and having it be _safe_. If he stays on this train of thought, his daydream is sure to end with them in a jail cell. That’s certainly not a place he wants to be, real or imagined.

No, they’d better leave Brooklyn. Somewhere isolated, far away from prying eyes. A clearing in a forest, maybe, with a lake beside it. They’d bring a picnic dinner, some blankets for sitting on. Once they settled on a good spot, they’d pull off each other’s clothes and swim in the lake, splashing and laughing, their hands wandering, no one but the trees to witness them. Bucky would kiss Steve’s smiling mouth, the curve of his neck, the ribs that protect that glorious heart. Later, after they’d eaten and talked and kissed some more, they would spread out their blankets and fall asleep beneath the stars. It sounds _perfect_. All he’d have to do is convince Steve to get out of the city, and then—

“Buck?”

Bucky jolts and drops the razor. Swearing, he carefully inspects his skin, relieved when no blood blooms to the surface. Steve comes up behind him, offering a threadbare towel. After Bucky rinses the dregs of lather off his face, he accepts it. He braces himself for the question in Steve’s eyes ( _what’s going on, are you okay_ ), but it doesn’t come.

“You leaving soon?” Steve asks instead.

“Soon as I’m ready,” Bucky replies.

Steve nods. “Well, have fun. And be careful,” he says teasingly. “Way you clean up, half the girls at the dance hall are gonna be swoonin’ over you. Mabel might get jealous.”

Bucky turns back to the smudged mirror to fuss with his hair. The only one he _wants_ to swoon over him is Steve, of course. Lord knows he gets a bit weak in the knees whenever Steve gives him that mischievous smile. He’s been like this for ages. You’d think he’d be used to it by now.

(But maybe loving your best friend in all kinds of wrong, secret ways isn’t something you ever get used to.)

“Ah, don’t you worry,” he tells Steve. “That’s nothin’ I can’t handle.” Reaching for his shirt on the back of the chair, he slips it on and does up the buttons. As he looks around for his good shoes, he adds, “Say, what are you doin’ tonight?”

He already knows the answer. Steve proves him right by lifting his notepad with a little wave. “Quiet night in,” he says wryly.

And sure, Bucky likes to say that Steve has all the sense of self-preservation God gave a rock, but maybe he’s really talking about himself when he says that, or himself when it comes to Steve, anyway, because now he blurts out, “Wanna come with me instead?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “I thought you were goin’ on a date.”

“Well, yeah, but Mabel won’t mind. We’re meeting some of her friends too. Ruthie’s already got a fella, but Louise is grand, I think you’ll like her. Come on, all you gotta do is put on a clean shirt and we’re out the door. Say you will? Please?”

Dragging his shoes out from under the couch, Bucky sits back on his heels and fixes Steve with what he hopes is a persuasive look. Steve crosses his arms and stares right back. But at last he sighs and throws up his hands, and Bucky knows he’s won. He clambers to his feet.

“All right,” Steve groans, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll go. Just gimme a minute to get ready, will ya?”

With a grin, Bucky slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders.

“For you, buddy?” He ruffles Steve’s hair. “I’d give ya ten.”

 

**2018**

Bucky wakes up all at once. Eyes wide. Sharp inhale. Eyes shut again. Exhale long and heavy. He can’t remember what woke him, and he probably doesn’t want to. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat steady against his back. The heat of Steve’s skin grounds him, binds him to a present where things are warm and close and alive (unlike so many of his dreams). Slowly he adjusts his breathing until their inhales and exhales match.

All around them is dark, everything still and quiet. Bucky doesn’t need a clock to know they’re nowhere near dawn. Gingerly he moves Steve’s arm from around his waist so he can inch himself up to sitting. After a moment’s hesitation, he leans down to press a kiss to Steve’s bare shoulder. Steve hums in his sleep, shifting a little toward Bucky, but his eyes remain closed, even as Bucky gets out of bed.

With as little noise as possible, Bucky puts on some clothes, then ducks out the door and into the night. The waxing moon is high in the sky, lighting his way. He walks far enough from the hut to feel a sense of solitude, but not so far to take him out of sight from the door. There he lifts his eyes skyward. The stars are so incredibly bright here. He wonders if Shuri would teach him the constellations, or maybe point him in the direction of someone who would. He learned a few of them back in Brooklyn, back during the war, but so much is different now.

He’s drifting through memories when the sound of footsteps brings him back down to earth. Steve is approaching, his suit pulled on haphazardly, his arms folded.

“Everything okay?” he asks once he’s close enough to speak softly.

Bucky nods. “Just wanted some air. Thought I might look at the stars.”

“Stars, huh?” And Steve turns his face upward too.

They watch the flickering celestial bodies in a comfortable silence. Bucky thinks about how Steve’s team is staying at the royal palace tonight. They’ve been gone for almost a month, on a mission Steve doesn’t want to describe and Bucky won’t ask about, but now they’re here to stay for a while, and he’s glad to have them back—to have Steve back. Glad as well to have a place where they all can be safe. He owes so much to T’Challa and Shuri and their people. He wouldn’t know how to properly express his gratitude.

“Kinda makes you feel small, doesn’t it?” he asks at last, nodding to the expanse of sky above them.

“Maybe,” Steve agrees. “But also a part of something bigger.”

Bucky likes the sound of that.

“I used to have this recurring dream,” he admits. “Well, daydream. From before. I would think about taking you out. You know, flowers. Dinner. Dancing. All of it.”

Steve reaches out to grab his hand. As their fingers tangle together, Bucky goes on.

“But I guess it was too unbelievable, even for a daydream, so I started thinking about leaving the city instead. Going to the middle of nowhere, y’know? Someplace we could do whatever we wanted and nobody would see. And every time I thought about it, we’d always fall asleep under the stars.” He snorts faintly. “Guess that’s the most romantic thing my city-boy brain could think up. Just you and me and the stars.”

When he finally glances over, Steve is watching him with the strangest look on his face. Bucky runs through his mental catalogue, which admittedly takes a while these days, but he finally manages to place it: reverence. Steve is looking at him with the softest, most adoring expression that Bucky has ever seen, possibly in his entire life.

Bucky still can’t believe he is allowed to receive such love, but god, does he want to. He wants to bathe in it, to submerge himself and never come out.

Suddenly Steve smiles. Bucky remembers this one. It’s small, private, like he’s had a good idea and he’s trying not to be too obvious about it.

“Come on,” Steve says, tipping his head in the direction of the hut. He tugs a little on Bucky’s hand for emphasis, but Bucky doesn’t move.

“Why?”

Steve shrugs, all casual-like. “To get our stuff. Shouldn’t be too hard to move. I think the top of that hill’s a good spot, don’t you?”

For a long moment, Bucky just stares at him. At length, he shakes his head.

“You’re something else, you know that?” he says, but he’s smiling too as he catches Steve’s face with his free hand and kisses him.

Steve leans into the metal of Bucky’s palm and kisses back. His mouth is firm and gentle by turns, giving shape to the feelings in his earlier gaze. Bucky thinks fleetingly that if he can just have this, here and now with Steve, then maybe…

When they break apart, Steve continues as if there was no interruption. “And there’s gotta be somewhere in the city to go dancing. I bet Shuri could suggest a place. What d’you say we look into it tomorrow? If you want to, that is.”

Bucky doesn’t quite trust himself to speak. Nodding, he pulls Steve in for another kiss.

 

They go back to sleep on a single sleeping pad on a hillside in Wakanda beneath the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> (If you want to imagine that the second part takes place between Black Panther and Infinity War, I guess technically you could. I mean, I'd rather pretend that the MCU canon ended with Black Panther, but I won't stop you.)


End file.
